


The Battle Mistress

by kainxjm



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, League of Legends - Freeform, Lore - Freeform, Novel, Sivir - Freeform, The Battle Mistress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kainxjm/pseuds/kainxjm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Sivir, starting from when she was a mere teenager until she became the heir to Shurima.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Battle Mistress

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, Kainxjm here. I hope you guys enjoy, this is actually the first novel I've ever written besides those 3 page long things I wrote for elementary school. Please tell me what I can improve, since most of you will probably be reading this before I even uploaded all of the chapters (I upload them once I complete each chapter). All ideas are welcome, I will take heed of all advice, and make sure to note down every criticism. Thank you!

**Chapter 1**

Sand. Everywhere, there was sand. Rough, unforgiving sand. To a traveler, it would seem as if the sand were trying to kill them, but not to Sivir. To Sivir, the harsh desert was her home, and she wouldn't want it any other way. Sivir was a bold twelve year old girl, living with her family in a small village in Shurima. She was never scared to meet with other people, despite the warnings of her parents. 

"You must be careful, Sivir," her mother would tell her. "Do not venture too far, there are thieves who will steal everything you own, no matter how insignificant."

"Forget not your desert garb," her father added, holding out a long brown robe. "The sun may give us life but too much of it will harm us."

"Yes mother, yes father," Siver replied with an annoyed sigh. She hated that robe, she didn't know why her parents made such a big deal about it. She never got sunburnt, her deeply tanned skin made sure of that. The robe only overheated Sivir. She thought it might be a ploy to keep her from staying out too long. She put the robe over her tunic and pants, before running out. 

As she left her house, she turned around to look at it quickly. It was a small tent, not even a house, but it was her home. There were no windows, just the tent entrance. She knew her father kept a spear with him at all times, and that he slept little during the night and more during the day because he was afraid. Sivir could never understand why, and turned her back to her brown colored home. 

She felt in her pockets one more time to make sure she still had her knife with her. She was a little rebellious, but she still listened to her parents, and wouldn't leave the relative safety of her tent without her dagger. At least, that's what she called it. Her dagger was more of a sharpened butter knife, but nonetheless, it could be deadly. That was the important thing.

She made her way to the market first, hoping she would be able to snatch a small apple, or a juicy orange. These were delicacies in the desert, and the fruit tended to be old, yet it still tastes good to any person who lived in Shurima. They were used to bread and salted meats, never any sort of fruits or vegetables. 

The market was a sad thing to call a market, for their village was not large. There were a couple carts with cloth above them to provide little shade. The owners shifted the carts to adjust for the movement of the sun, and most of them were close to the nearby buildings of the village center. There were only five or six buildings in her village, and these were only made of rough sandstone, with no doors. Only doorways, and these tended to get hotter than it was outside. 

When Sivir reached the market, she glanced around the tiny plaza. One fruit cart, one cart filled with tools, and one more with various trinkets and pieces of jewelry. Sivir wasn't like most girls, it wasn't the jewelry she wanted. She liked looking at the different sorts of swords and axes, chipped and dull as they were. She heard stories of enchanted weapons, bows that could shoot arrows made of light, swords that were unbreakable with an edge that could cut through diamond. None of this was on the wooden cart, however. Those were only legends to Sivir, unreal. 

When she was done looking at the tools, or more shooed away by the cart owner, she began to admire the different sorts of fruits. Bananas, already completely brown, but still a delicacy in her eyes. Bruised peaches and dried up plums, all the most beautiful thing to Sivir's eyes. 

She placed her hands on the side of the cart, staring at all the food greedily when the cart owner noticed her and shouted. "Hey! Stand back from the merchandise. This isn't a charity."

Sivir turned around, and sulked away. She had gotten distracted by the fruit that she forgot to snatch one and run. She glanced back one more time, but the cart owner was keeping his eye on her. 

Sivir sat down on the stairs to one of the buildings, and began to wonder what she should do next. She was always excited to leave the tent, but there was nothing much to do in the town. The children were all scared of each other, scared they were going to be mugged. The adults were cruel to Sivir, looking at her as if she were a rat. She thought about trying to make a second go at the fruit cart when a voice whispered at her loudly.

"Hey, girl," the raspy whisper came and Sivir looked around. "I'm in the building, girl."

Sivir turned around to see a rugged, unshaven man looking at her through the doorway. Her hand instinctively went to her knife, and she jumped to her feet, backing away from the man. Her parents have warned her of dangerous men who preyed on young girls. As she grew older, they explained it more. They targeted the young and innocent because they would resist weaker, would be more gullible, and they were more fresh. "Don't touch me," Sivir said as she held up her glorified butter knife, and the man chuckled.

"Well, you're a feisty one. Girl, I don't want to hurt you. I want to ask you something," the man stood up and walked closer to her, and Sivir stepped back once again. 

"Don't get any closer!" Sivir shouted, although shouting wouldn't do anything. The people in the village didn't care enough. 

The man chose to ignore Sivir's shout and kept walking, and Sivir began waving the knife wildly, slashing at the air. The man grabbed her arm with a tight grip, and yanked the knife from her hand. "I said, I'm not going to hurt you," he said before pulling three gold pieces from his pocket. "I want to ask you for a favor. There's a chalice on the cart full of trinkets and jewels. If you can snatch it for me, you can have these three gold pieces to buy yourself some fruit, and you can have your knife back."

"Why should I do that?" Sivir asked, spitting at him. 

The man let out another laugh and held up the knife. "For one, I have your knife," as the man said that he held up the gold in his other hand. "And I have hold to buy fruit."

"Why don't you just do it yourself? Or why don't you buy the chalice, then?" 

"Child, that chalice is worth at least ten gold pieces. And look at me, my hair is turning white, my bones are turning weak. I am too old to run quickly, too clumsy to be quiet. You on the other hand are what, nine, ten?" The man asked and Sivir snorted.

"I'm twelve," she said, as if she were proud of it. 

"Next time, say you're ten. It's safer that way, and you look like it. Being twelve makes you a more… just do it, it may save you."

Sivir didn't respond, and the man spoke again. "Now will you help me, or no?" The man asked, impatiently this time. 

"Fine," Sivir agreed. "But first, I want my dagger back."

"It's a knife," the man said as he handed it back to her. "It won't do you any good against any real threat, but if the girl wishes it."

"Thank you?" Sivir said and she began walking towards the village center again. 

"I'll be waiting here," the man called after her, and he sat back down on the steps. 

Sivir continued walking, towards the trinket cart. Should she steal it? She wondered that to herself as she walked. She wanted the fruit, but if it were as valuable as the man said, the cart owner would want to keep that safe. If Sivir got caught, she could be in big trouble. As Sivir walked towards the cart, she noticed the chalice, and could tell why the man wanted it. It was a golden chalice with small red rubies adorning the sides. At least ten gold pieces? This would cost hundreds. Sivir also noticed that the cart owner was a chubby, tired, lazy man. He must be wealthy, to have this stuff, and stupid, to come to such a small village.

Sivir acted as though she were just walking past, before she turned the corner behind a building. The cart was next to the building, and Sivir felt this would be an easy snatch. She crawled around the building until she was on the same side as the cart. The owner couldn't see her, and she crawled in front of the cart, ignoring the burns the hot sand was giving her hands. She reached up, grabbed the chalice which was at the end of the cart, and quickly crawled back to the building's opposite side. Holding the chalice, she admired it. But she realized it was light, and it must only be gold paint. That made Sivir sad, for some reason. She had never liked fake things, but this chalice wasn't hers. 

Pushing away the feeling, Sivir ran a long way around back to the building where the man was waiting. Holding the chalice up proudly, she brought it to the man. "I have your cup," she said.

"Good job, girl. The shop owner will notice soon enough, you'd best buy that fruit before he does," the man said as he took the chalice. He handed Sivir three gold pieces, and Sivir placed them in her pocket. 

"What do you want the cup for?" Sivir asked, curious about it. 

"It's not a cup, and I want it because it's worth money," he said as he admired the chalice.

"It looks like a cup, and anyways, it's made of fake gold. It might be wood with a gold paint, or some other type of metal. I don't think it was-" Sivir was cut off your the man and the man held his finger to Sivir's mouth.

"Do you hear that?" The man asked, and Sivir listened quietly. In the distance, she heard the sound of whooping, and muffled hoof beats against sand. 

"What is it?" Sivir asked and the man grabbed her, bringing her into the shadow of a building. 

"Marauders," he said and he gave Sivir the chalice. He looked out to the desert and shook his head. "Kthaons, by the look of their garb," the man muttered. "Hide in there," the man said, pointing behind Sivir.

Sivir looked behind her to a nearly undetectable hole under the building. "I'm too small to it in there, I'll try and find someplace else to hide. Take the chalice," the man continued as he stuffed her into the hole.

Sivir poked her head out as she watched the man walking back out to the street. She was about to ask him what he was going to do, when she heard hoof beats near the building. A moment later, a spear was sticking out of the man's chest, and he fell lifeless to the ground. Sivir gasped as she saw the body of her new acquaintance hit the ground, blood turning the yellow sand red. She heard more hoof beats, and quickly ducked back into her hole, covering with with sand. 

She heard screams, and hoof beats. She didn't know what was happening, but it sounded terrifying and she began to tear up in her eyes. It felt like an eternity as Sivir waited, crying to herself softly. She was clutching to her knife, her knuckles pale. 

Finally, Sivir dared exit her hole, looking around. There was no more sign of the Kthaons, only bodies littering the ground. Sivir pulled herself up, and walked to the body of the man. There as a pool of blood, as the spear had been pulled out, letting the wound flow freely. She saw his lifeless eyes, and couldn't manage to look any longer. She turned away, before deciding to do one more thing. She grabbed the chalice, and placed it on the man's chest. She put his hands on top of the chalice, and began to walk away. It was the least she could do to honor the man who had saved her life. 

Nearby, there was a sword on the ground and Sivir picked it up. She was able to lift it with one hand, because it was a short sword, but she needed two hands to wield it. She put her knife back in her pocket, and held the sword with both her hands. There was no more food or tools left. Only bodies. The Kthaons had taken everything, and Sivir suddenly remembered her family. 

Running as fast as she could with the sword, she sprinted towards her tent, praying to the gods of Shurima that her parents were still alive. But the gods were cruel, and when Sivir arrived, the tent was knocked down to the ground. Outside of it lay the body of her father, headless as his spear lay next to him. His spear was covered in blood, too, and she saw the body of a marauder too. She looked around, scared to find her father's head, but she needed to. 

As Sivir walked around the tent, she found it. Her father's decapitated head, with its eyes wide open. Sivir let out a wail of sadness as she fell to her knees. Her eyes were letting out a river of tears, and Sivir bent over the head. She couldn't bring herself to look at it any longer, and she got up, noticing a bulge under the collapsed tent. It could only be her mother. Pulling aside the cloth, her fear was confirmed as she saw the body of her mother sprawled on the ground. Her mother was facedown, a hole in her back. She was stabbed, by a sword or a spear Sivir did not know, but it didn't matter. Her family was dead.

Her family was dead, and there was nothing she could do about it. Sivir pulled off her desert robe, and covered her mother with it. She let out a frustrated, wordless shout of anger and sadness before dropping her sword. She lay down next to the covered body of her mother, still crying, and she waited. 

She waited for the Kthaons to come back, and to kill her.

She waited for the snakes to come and eat her.

She waited for the scavengers to pick out her eyes.

She waited for the endless sleep that her mother and father were in.

She waited for the ghost of the man to haunt her.

She waited for the end. 

She waited for the pain to leave.

She waited for the grief to stop.

She waited for the morning, and went to sleep.


End file.
